


Power Play

by Mice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, D/s, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft knows what Greg wants, and he intends to give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> Proof-loofa by Random-Nexus, Britpicking by LadyLilyMalfoy. Enjoy your smuts!
> 
> Chinese translation by Lynn found here. You will need to be logged into the forum to read.
> 
> http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=94769&pid=1744867&page=1&extra=#pid1744867

Greg's skin prickled as Mycroft's breath ghosted, warm, into his ear. "I know what you want." Mycroft's voice was barely more than a soft, sensual purr, and Greg shivered, his throat convulsing in a visible swallow. He licked his lips.

"I've no idea what you're talking about." They stood at the edge of the latest crime scene looking out across the street. Greg's team had wrapped up the preliminary investigation and they were about to return to the office to deal with the interminable paperwork that nobody ever wanted to think about once the work at the scene was done. Sherlock wasn't involved with the case, so Mycroft's presence here was unexpected, though Greg couldn't exactly claim it was unwelcome.

"Oh, I think you do." Mycroft stood close behind Greg, solid and very present, his lips barely an inch from Greg's ear. His voice sent a chill down Greg's back. "Don't imagine I haven't been watching you, Inspector. You have been of considerable interest to me for quite some time."

"Why?" Greg didn't turn to look at the man looming over his shoulder.

"For the same reason you've been watching me," Mycroft murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I know what you _want_ , Gregory. I know what you like." Greg felt a cold curl of unease in his stomach. He couldn't mean that. There was no way Mycroft could know. "You're drawn to men with power. You're fascinated by them. Your eyes follow them when you're in their presence, and the way you stand, the way you breathe, changes." Greg's breath caught, his heart stuttering at Mycroft's words. God, every bit of it was true. "You want a man who can put you on your knees, don't you?" He could hear the smirk in Mycroft's voice as it quieted to a dark whisper. "More to the point, you want that man to be me. I can see it when you look at me."

Greg's mouth was too dry to speak so he just nodded slightly, once, his eyes fixed on the building his team was exiting. He felt lightheaded with the shock of his carefully hidden desire laid bare by so few words. He should have known he couldn't hide something like that from the man, and his nod was an admission, a confession of something he'd never dared say to anyone. Hell, he'd hardly dared admit it to himself before that moment.

"I'll give you what you need, Gregory," Mycroft murmured, his lips grazing the curve of Greg's ear. Greg stiffened, clamping down on a shudder before it could roll through his body. There was nothing he could do about his sudden, unruly arousal. His hands clenched into fists, blunt fingernails digging into his palms.

"Why now?" Greg asked, finally finding his voice, though it was rough and he couldn't conceal his confusion. They'd known one another for years and Greg had been divorced for quite a while already. What had changed?

"Does that really matter?" Greg could feel Mycroft's fingertips at the small of his back, a light pressure that only served to send an electric current of arousal up his spine.

"No," Greg whispered, his eyes closing as he leaned back slightly into the touch, seeking more.

"I'll send a car for you tonight when you leave work." The heat of Mycroft's body behind him vanished and, by the time Greg turned to look, the man's black car was moving away, its windows dark and impenetrable. Bloody Holmeses with their arrogance and their overwhelming presence and their silky voices.

Greg wasn't entirely certain what he had just agreed to, but it was sure to be _interesting_. He couldn't tell whether he was more turned on or terrified.

***

Greg stepped onto the pavement in front of New Scotland Yard when his day was done. One of Mycroft's ubiquitous unmarked black cars rolled up the street to the door before he took five steps. He sighed, uneasy but excited, as he got into the vehicle, his body remembering the burn of Mycroft's touch earlier in the day. Not knowing what to expect, he took a few deep breaths and tried to settle himself as the car pulled out into the traffic.

Greg had never been to Mycroft's. They'd met at Greg's office, or at crime scenes, occasionally at a restaurant for a discussion, or at Mycroft's odd, silent club. Once, Mycroft had appeared on Greg's doorstep, entering for a few moments to deliver a file that he'd asked Greg to take to Sherlock. None of it had suggested anything like this was a possibility, whatever 'this' was.

He didn't have that long to contemplate his fate; Mycroft's place was closer than Greg would have suspected. The driver dropped him off in front of the door and then drove off, leaving him staring up at Mycroft's building. Greg sighed, straightened his shoulders, and strode to the door, ringing the bell. He didn't know if he was quite ready for whatever might happen, but he was determined to find out, despite the tightness in his chest and the fluttering in his stomach.

Mycroft opened the door, clad in one of his impeccable suits. It wasn't the same one he'd been wearing earlier; this one was more elegant, dark grey with a burgundy tie and pocket square, showing the man off to full advantage. The sight went straight to Greg's cock. Mycroft smiled at him, a thoroughly wicked look in his eyes. "Please, come in." He stood aside with a casual gesture of his hand, allowing Greg in past him, then closing and locking the door behind them.

Greg looked around as Mycroft took his overcoat and jacket from him, hooking them on the coat stand before leading him into the rest of the house. Well, what Greg could see of the rest of the house, which he suspected was huge. It was just as expensive and extravagant as Greg would have expected, all antiques and understated elegance and bookshelves to the ceiling. It was just as well he was looking at the house, as he wasn't sure he wanted to be caught staring at Mycroft's arse. It was a startlingly fit one from what Greg had seen on other occasions, when a breeze might shift Mycroft's jacket and reveal the long, lean lines of his body.

In the sitting room, Mycroft offered Greg a seat on the sofa, and a glass of red wine. A bottle had been sitting open, waiting for them, with two glasses already filled. As Greg took the proffered glass, Mycroft's fingers brushed his as it changed hands. The contact was warm and subtle, leaving him wanting more. He could feel Mycroft's gaze on him, solid as a touch, when he took the glass. Greg sipped the wine and looked up to meet his dark, stormy blue-grey eyes, which narrowed slightly as Mycroft watched, standing close in front of him.

"You've not done this before."

Greg shook his head. "No. Right now, I'm not even certain what 'this' is." He thought maybe he knew what he wanted it to be -- Mycroft had pulled an image straight out of his fantasies earlier, at the crime scene.

Mycroft took a sip from his glass, watching Greg as though he could see right into his bones. It was even more unnerving than Sherlock's razor-sharp gaze, and far more intimate. Mycroft reached down with one hand, touching Greg's chin and lifting it, their eyes locked. "Eventually, I intend to bend you over and fuck you until you beg me to let you come," he said, his voice languid. "But first I'm going to have you on your knees, satisfying my every whim."

Greg's eyes widened and his pulse went into overdrive; he could feel himself growing hard at the thought. He couldn't help the dry swallow he made as Mycroft's smile thinned and sharpened. It vanished again after only a moment, and the touch of his finger on Greg's chin became a caress of his jaw, leaving a trail of delicious sensation. "You may, of course, say no to anything if you wish. It will all stop with one simple word. You do trust me, don't you?" Mycroft's voice was like velvet, hypnotic and soft.

He nodded before he was able to find his voice. "Y-yes," he stammered. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, expectant. "Yes, Sir," Greg whispered. Mycroft's eyes lit and he smiled, almost radiant with pleasure at Greg's words.

"Very good," he purred. "You do seem to have the idea of it." He took another sip from his glass. "Please, enjoy the merlot, Gregory." Mycroft sat beside him, their thighs pressed together, with Mycroft's hand resting possessively on Greg's leg. Greg's head was already spinning just a little from anticipation and excitement, before the wine could have any effect at all.

The touch of Mycroft's hand, of the flat of his palm and his fingers, was hot even through the cloth of his trousers. He wondered what it would feel like on his bare skin, and why it was so bloody intoxicating. After a few more sips, Mycroft leaned in and brushed his lips across Greg's mouth. Greg's breath caught and his eyes closed as he tried to lean into the touch, wanting the soft depth of Mycroft's kiss.

Mycroft backed away slightly. "Shh," he murmured. "Just be still and let me have control. That is, after all, what you want, isn't it?"

His breath quickened as his eyes flickered open again. "Yes, Sir." The return of Mycroft's lips to his own sent a thrill through him; he yielded to the kiss without trying to move closer or dictate what happened, and Mycroft made a small, quiet sound of approval, licking into Greg's mouth, their tongues caressing. It felt fantastic, and Greg groaned softly into the warm hollow of Mycroft's mouth.

"Oh, yes." Mycroft's voice was a low growl against Greg's lips, and Greg fought to resist diving in and taking what he wanted, tense and on edge, his fingers tight on the wineglass. Mycroft's lips moved slowly along Greg's rough, stubbled jaw, then down to his throat, and Greg shivered and tilted his head back, his body sensitive and tingling. "Lovely," Mycroft whispered, his breath warm and moist against Greg's skin. His teeth closed gently over the arc of Greg's stretched neck, and Greg gasped, reaching up to touch Mycroft's cheek, wanting to run his fingers through the man's hair.

Mycroft chuckled, retreating. "This is harder than you expected, being still for me." Greg nodded. "That's all right. There are ways to make it easier." Mycroft finished his wine, gesturing for Greg to do the same, and Greg emptied his glass and set it on the table before them.

When Mycroft rose from the sofa, he held out a hand to Greg and brought him to his feet. Taking Greg's wrists in his hands, Mycroft embraced him as he held them behind Greg's back and gave him a raw, aggressive kiss that turned Greg's knees to jelly. Greg could feel Mycroft's thick erection answering his own, both of them hard and hot, with Greg more than a little drunk on the feeling of being restrained, of Mycroft's arms around him, of Mycroft's body pressed against him. After a moment, Mycroft took both of Greg's wrists in one hand and let his other drift up Greg's side as he continued kissing him, caressing his way across Greg's chest, and finally fisting his fingers into Greg's hair, tugging his head back to expose Greg's throat. The sound Greg made was more a whimper than a groan, and Mycroft's teeth scraped, damp, across the tendon at the angle of his jaw, leaving Greg panting for breath.

"Oh, that is delightful," Mycroft murmured, his lips moving on Greg's skin. He slowly licked and sucked his way down Greg's neck until he got to the collar of Greg's shirt, then kissed his mouth again, this time a soft invasion by Mycroft's tongue as Greg's heart thundered and his body responded enthusiastically to the sensation.

When Mycroft released him, Greg stood there for a moment, eyes half closed, his head spinning from the speed of his pulse and the harsh quickness of his breathing. Collecting himself, he asked, "Why did you stop?" Mycroft's head tilted, and Greg added, "Sir."

"Because I would rather pursue this in a more appropriate space." He touched Greg's cheek, running his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. "Come with me." Mycroft turned and Greg followed him further into the huge house, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway before Mycroft opened a door and gestured for Greg to enter.

The bedroom was spacious, with an en-suite bath and what looked like a large walk-in closet. It was furnished with a luxurious-looking bed flanked by side tables with lamps on them, a couple of chairs and a small writing desk, a carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed, and a bookshelf that took up most of one wall. The room's walls were papered in something opulent and Victorian, all deep reds and gold above dark wooden wainscoting, and the bedding and furniture complemented the color scheme. Mycroft closed the door behind them as Greg stood beside the closest of the chairs, wondering what Mycroft would want from him.

Mycroft's arms slipped around him from behind, encircling him and pulling him close. Greg relaxed into the embrace and Mycroft sighed softly; Greg could almost hear him smile. It felt good to be there, despite the shimmer of nerves skittering under Greg's skin. After a moment, Mycroft kissed his neck and released him. "Remove your clothing, then fold it and set it on the chair beside you."

Greg turned his head to look at him; Mycroft's face was a cool mask, his eyes narrow, watching Greg with intense focus. Greg reached up and began to unbutton his shirt.

"When I give you an order, Gregory, you will respond with 'yes, Sir.'"

The words startled him to stillness for a moment, but they stirred a deeply hidden need within him. "Yes, Sir," he answered, his voice gone husky with the brilliant spike of desire that drove through him. Mycroft nodded his approval, and Greg hurried to comply as Mycroft stood, unmoving, simply watching him. The still, silent observation heightened Greg's desire; he wondered if Mycroft would get undressed as well.

Piece by piece, Greg removed his clothing and folded it, placing it on the chair as he'd been instructed. A few minutes later he stood before Mycroft, completely naked, his cock half hard as he wondered what would happen next.

Mycroft folded his hands behind him and began to walk around Greg, looking him over with sharp attention. Greg's head turned to follow Mycroft, but the man placed a finger on Greg's chin and turned his head forward again. "Be still."

"Yes, Sir." Greg looked at the wall in front of him, but he could feel Mycroft moving around him, the air shifting and flowing as he paced; Mycroft's footsteps were muffled in the thick, soft carpeting. He heard Mycroft open the wooden chest behind him, and the quiet shuffling of items within it. A moment later, Mycroft returned to stand in front of him with a small coil of rope in his hand.

"I'm going to bind your wrists," Mycroft said. He stepped closer to Greg, who didn't move, and touched Greg with the rope. It was softer than he'd expected, trailing along his skin from his waist up to his collarbone. There was some texture to it; it wasn't slick or slippery, but it felt good. Mycroft caressed Greg's cheek with it and Greg closed his eyes and let his head tilt into the touch. Mycroft didn't stop him. He could smell the rope as it rasped against the stubble on his cheek; there was something warm and earthy to it, comfortable and rich. "You like that." Mycroft's voice was soft and Greg could hear an undertone of arousal in its timbre. Greg nodded. "Good, I'm glad to see it."

The rope slipped down over Greg's shoulder and along one arm, making him shiver slightly. Then Mycroft's warm hands drew Greg's wrists together and he could feel the glide of the rope dragging, cool, over his skin, as Mycroft bound him. Greg's breath stilled for a moment as he felt the rope coil around his wrists, sliding along his skin in a movement that could only be described as sensuous; it slithered and tickled and Greg shivered, his cock growing harder and his nipples tightening as Mycroft's breath brushed the nape of his neck and along his spine between his shoulder blades.

Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg's shoulder as he finished with the rope, and his palms skimmed up Greg's arms, then over his shoulders and down his chest, fingers trailing through the hair there, brushing over his nipples and caressing him, drawing him back into Mycroft's still-clothed body. Greg's hand curved to cup Mycroft's hot erection through the cloth, but Mycroft pulled back slightly. "Don't touch," he murmured. "I'll tell you when I want you to do anything."

Greg nodded again. "Yes, Sir."

"You are so good, Gregory," Mycroft whispered, his breath tickling in Greg's ear. Greg couldn't help smiling at that.

God, he wanted to touch, though. The cloth of Mycroft's suit was silky and decadent, and had felt good under his hand. It was nothing like any of the clothing Greg had ever owned. He tugged slightly, testing the rope around his wrists. That felt surprisingly good, as well. Mycroft moved away, rustling in the chest again for a moment, and then Greg heard it close.

Mycroft cupped Greg's cheek and kissed him as he moved to stand in front of him again. It was slow and Greg could taste a ghost of the wine in his mouth, feel Mycroft's want in it, in how the man touched him, gentle and strong, commanding. It was fantastic. When Mycroft ended the kiss, Greg was breathless and deeply aroused, his cock hard and in need of touch.

He looked at Mycroft, whose eyes were dilated and dark; he was obviously as much affected by this as Greg, and that pleased Greg immensely. Mycroft had always been an enigma, cool and distant and more powerful than Greg could quite imagine. The thought that he could do something that might actually penetrate that mystery, that would cause Mycroft to react like a man who wanted, who felt, who desired -- it was heady and thrilling.

Reaching into his pocket, Mycroft drew out a strip of dark brown leather, letting it uncoil, and Greg's eyes widened. The thing was a collar, with a brass buckle. Greg looked back up at Mycroft, slightly taken aback by the idea. "Does this bother you?" Mycroft asked.

He'd said Greg could say no to anything but, while this wasn't something Greg had expected, he found he felt more curious than perturbed, and it did nothing to mute his arousal. "No, Sir. I... it just surprised me, is all."

Mycroft nodded. "You'll wear this while we play, Gregory." His voice was quiet but intense. "It will serve to remind you that you belong to me."

Greg's breath caught. "Y-yes, Sir," he whispered, stunned at how bloody much he wanted that, and how his body reacted to the thought. He stood there, trembling slightly, as Mycroft held the leather up to his mouth.

"Kiss the collar, Gregory."

Greg obeyed, the scent of the leather filling his head, dizzying him. When Mycroft slipped it around his neck, Greg tilted his chin up, giving Mycroft easier access. He was breathless as Mycroft buckled it low on his throat, just tight enough for Greg to be aware of it without it restricting his breathing at all. Mycroft kissed him again as his fingers traced the circle of leather. A moment later, Mycroft took a handful of Greg's hair and drove him to his knees.

He was panting, desperately aroused as he looked up at Mycroft from where he knelt before the man, his hands bound behind him. It was so much hotter than Greg had imagined, being bound and collared and helpless on his knees with Mycroft's fist tight in his hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, just letting himself be in the moment, trying not to anticipate anything. God, he wanted -- wanted Mycroft's cock in his mouth, wanted hands on his body, wanted to be held down and fucked. He wanted to beg, and to make Mycroft groan and tremble and come inside him.

Mycroft tugged on his hair, jerking his head up. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice clear and powerful. Greg opened his eyes, looking up at him. "Tell me how you feel."

Greg's voice shook a little when he spoke. "Like I could be here for days while you make me come, over and over, Sir."

The cold, superior mask Mycroft had been wearing broke and his eyes lit, a fierce, brilliant grin opening his face. "Oh, you are exquisite." He closed his eyes for a moment then looked down at Greg again, releasing his hair. Mycroft pulled a packet from his pocket and opened it, proffering the little disc to Greg's lips. "Put this on me."

Greg took the condom in his mouth as Mycroft opened his trousers and freed his thick cock and balls. He stood above Greg and took a handful of his hair again, urging Greg forward. Greg had only tried this a couple of times, years ago, before his marriage, but he thought he remembered how to do it. A little work with lips and tongue, and Greg began rolling the condom down over Mycroft's cock; Mycroft made a rough, satisfied sound as he pushed his cock inside, letting Greg cover him, then slowly fucking Greg's mouth. Greg groaned with pleasure at how Mycroft's thick shaft filled him, the way it slid over his tongue. That pleasure was compounded by the rope that bound his wrists, even as he struggled against it, wanting to take Mycroft's hips in his hands.

"Do you think you can take all of it?" Mycroft asked, his breathing harsh as he pushed into Greg's mouth more deeply with each slow thrust. Greg moaned, not sure but willing to try. The heavy scent of Mycroft's arousal sparked an echo in Greg's body, making him want more, and the cock in his mouth felt amazingly good. Mycroft got about half of his cock in Greg's mouth before he started to push into his throat; Greg gagged at first, but kept trying to take Mycroft's length. Finally, swallowing as Mycroft pushed, he got past the reflex and let Mycroft thrust down his throat, stopping his breath and completing the sensation of being entirely at Mycroft's mercy.

Mycroft groaned quietly as Greg swallowed him, whispering words of praise and encouragement, pressing in again and again until Greg was lightheaded, his nose buried in the cloth of Mycroft's trousers. Greg was so aroused that he wondered if he would come with Mycroft's cock down his throat and that smooth, resonant voice in his ears. His own cock ached, throbbing with his racing pulse, and he wanted more.

Too soon, Mycroft pulled away, leaving Greg gasping for breath. Mycroft pulled Greg back to his feet. Greg swayed and Mycroft held him, kissing him hard and caressing his chest and sides and back as Mycroft took him into his arms. His legs wobbled, but Mycroft was strong enough to support him, guiding him as he was walked backwards to the bed. Greg felt the mattress bump the backs of his thighs and then Mycroft lowered him down, moving Greg to where he wanted him. It wasn't comfortable, lying on his bound arms, but Mycroft rolled him onto his side only a moment later, before crawling onto the bed with him, still fully clothed.

Greg didn't have a chance to recover before Mycroft began exploring Greg's body with his hands and his mouth. Mycroft's touch was electric, leaving Greg panting and writhing in his pleasure as Mycroft licked and sucked and nipped at Greg's skin. He trembled as Mycroft tortured his nipples, pinching and playing with one as he sucked and nipped at the other. Greg couldn't help moaning and crying out as Mycroft pushed him more and more deeply into a state of sensual ecstasy, even as he avoided touching Greg's cock or letting him rub himself off against the bed. Greg's need was sharp and compelling, and Mycroft's hands were everywhere, squeezing his buttocks, tracing the muscles of his legs, rubbing his feet, pulling his hair.

Finally, Greg found his voice, rough and shaky as it was, his throat a little sore from the intrusion of Mycroft's thick cock. "Please," he begged, "God, please, Sir, fuck me. Christ, I need your cock."

The sound Mycroft made was nearly a growl, and he rolled Greg roughly onto his belly before he spread Greg's arse cheeks and began circling and rubbing his hole with long, slender fingers. Cold, slick lube dribbled down the crack of his arse, but Mycroft only teased, not breaching Greg at all. Greg spread his legs and raised his arse, opening himself entirely to Mycroft's fingers as he pleaded for Mycroft to fuck him.

Mycroft chuckled and leaned down to suck on Greg's ear while one finger circled Greg's hole, slick and sensual. "You beg so beautifully, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was nearly as rough and breathless as Greg's, obviously affected by Greg's intense need and desire. "So you think I should fuck you?"

"Please, please, please," were the only words Greg could form by that point, too overwhelmed by sensation to be coherent. He moaned, loud and long, when Mycroft pushed one finger into him, fucking him slowly with it. Greg tried to make him press deeper and thrust harder, but Mycroft didn't let the rocking of Greg's hips change the depth or the angle he had chosen. Greg struggled against the rope, nearly weeping with desperation as his body fought for what he needed.

Finally, Mycroft's weight shifted, and Greg felt the irresistible press of Mycroft's cock pushing into him, penetrating him with an initial shock of stretching pain that made him cry out, his body shaking. "It's all right, relax," Mycroft murmured, leaning down over his back and wrapping one arm around Greg's body, lifting his shoulders from the bed and supporting him. It was easier for Mycroft to say than for Greg to do, but even with the pain, this was what Greg needed. Mycroft rocked gently with him, slipping in deeper, until Greg's tight hole finally yielded, and he felt Mycroft fill him.

The sensation of Mycroft's clothes rubbing against Greg's hypersensitive skin was thrilling. It was strange and fantastic, being naked and bound, fucked by a man still wearing a suit and tie, but what it did to Greg's head was amazing. Mycroft's slow, deep thrusts drew desperate sounds from Greg's throat. He needed to come so badly, and Mycroft was still just teasing him, torturing him with pleasure that kept him on the edge but refusing to let him fall. Every time Greg tried to speed things up or change the angle so Mycroft's cock would skim over the sweet spot inside him, Mycroft overpowered him, controlling Greg's body and keeping him away from the orgasm that was so very close.

"I need -- oh God, please." Greg was nearly weeping with frustration, his body shaking and sweating as Mycroft kept up the steady, blissful pace.

"You beg so beautifully, you're so perfect," Mycroft groaned. "God, you're amazing. You feel so good."

"Sir, please. N-need to come, please, I need to come. Let me come."

"Not yet."

Greg shouted his frustration, and Mycroft's hips rotated, sending a bolt of hot, delirious pleasure through Greg's body. "Please," he gasped. "M-Mycroft, God, please. This -- I -- please, Sir!"

Mycroft moved again, still thrusting as he pushed Greg's shoulders down into the mattress, grabbing his hair with one hand. Shifting his weight, he shoved Greg's knees further apart, then began pounding into him. "Yes," he growled, fucking Greg hard and fast, "let me see you come."

God, it was blinding. Mycroft's other hand closed over his cock and started stroking him and Greg lost all control. He shouted himself hoarse as the long-delayed orgasm blew through him like a thunderstorm, powerful and intense and nearly endless. He collapsed under Mycroft, feeling him still working toward his own release, the heat of Mycroft's panting breath in his ear as Greg floated in a haze of deep, vertiginous bliss. Moments later, Mycroft groaned, "God, Greg, yes," and his body shuddered and bucked, driving deeply into Greg's body before he stilled, breathless and gasping.

Both of them rested, not able to move; Greg's limbs trembled, still not under his control. After a few minutes, Mycroft rose, stripping his clothes off and disposing of the condom, before lying back down with Greg, his face flushed. Mycroft kissed him, incredibly vulnerable in his tenderness as he untied the knots that bound Greg's wrists. When he was free, Greg flopped onto his back and draped his arms around Mycroft, their legs twining together, skin against skin, still too weak to do much of anything.

Mycroft reached for the collar but Greg stopped him with one hand on Mycroft's wrist. "Leave it," he mumbled.

"You're sure?" Mycroft's voice was still rough. He looked at Greg, and Greg knew he could see everything.

Greg nodded. "Yeah. For a bit."

Mycroft nodded. "Stay," he said, his voice soft. It was nearly a question.

"For the night?"

Mycroft's head tilted. His fingers trailed along Greg's cheek. "Stay," he whispered, the inflection in the word asking for something much larger.

Greg kissed him, deep and welcoming, eagerly answering that unspoken request.

~~fin~~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You're gonna hear me roar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358641) by [janetimothyfreeman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janetimothyfreeman/pseuds/janetimothyfreeman)




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